That September Day
by uniquelyjas
Summary: MacGyver experiences the events of the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001.


**That September Day**

" _Where were you when the world stopped turning on that September Day?"_

 _-Alan Jackson_

 **September 10, 2001**

 **Monday**

 **10pm**

MacGyver trudged along the meandering, sand-sprinkled concrete walkway leading to his beachside cottage, a heavy duffle hefted over one shoulder. He was finally returning home after spending ten days working on an ecological study in the Sierra Madres and was anxious for a glass of cold milk and a soft bed.

"I'm getting too old for this kinda thing," he grumbled under his breath but then quickly bit his tongue.

Several years earlier, he and Sam had returned to Los Angeles after touring the greater portion of the western United States on their motorcycles. While yearning for freedom and adventure at the outset, passing time and a growing relationship eventually had them considering long-term options. Shortly after arriving back in the City of Angels, the Phoenix Foundation had reached out to MacGyver and attempted to lure him back with a promotion to Director of Something-or-Other. As soon as Mac had hear the "D" word, he had tuned out. To him, the offensive letter stood for desk, dull, and dumb tie. He wanted no part of any of it, preferring to return to his former position of field operative under Pete Thornton who was now completely blind and relied on human aides as well as assistive technology to carry out his daily duties. When Pete had retired three years ago, MacGyver eagerly accepted an assignment to spearhead a long term ecological and geological study. Now, here he was, living steps away from a secluded beach while Sam, a crime beat reporter and photojournalist for the L.A. Times, had chosen to live in a downtown loft. Closer to the action, he had explained to his dad. Mac shook his head at that thought as he unlocked the door to his humble abode, dropping his duffle on a nearby bench. He decided to forego the milk and bed and instead crashed on the couch which was much closer and still exponentially softer than what he had been sleeping on for the past several days. Blissful slumber claimed him immediately.

 **September 11, 2001**

 **Tuesday**

 **4:30am**

MacGyver awoke to the sound of rhythmic ocean waves crashing against the nearby beach. The room was shrouded in darkness, sunrise still about two hours away. He groaned and closed his eyes, planning on several more hours of sleep, but a soul-deep restlessness had him rolling off the couch and collecting ingredients for the protein shake that would be his breakfast. The digital clock on the microwave told him it was only a little past four-thirty in the morning. It was gonna be a long day.

Twenty minutes later, clad in grey sweatpants and a matching top with the sleeves cut off, MacGyver walked out his front door and did a few slow, lazy stretches before heading off on a long run. He loved this time of the day. Always had. A fresh start filled with new possibilities. The steady slap of his shoes against the pavement soothed him, allowing him to relish the calm peacefulness of the sleeping world around him. The air was cool but laden with moisture causing his hair to cling to his neck and his sweatsuit to adhere to his well-toned body by the time he returned home almost an hour later. Looking forward to a long hot shower that would wash away the sweaty stickiness of his skin and ease his tightened muscles, he frowned when he heard his telephone ringing as he stepped across the threshold. He glanced at his watch. It was five minutes before six o'clock.

"Hello?" he answered, still a bit breathless from his jog.

"MacGyver, are you watching the news?" Pete asked urgently.

"No, I just got back from a run," he replied matter-of-factly.

"Well, then turn it on!" the older man ordered.

"Okay, okay. What channel?"

"It doesn't matter!" Pete was clearly exasperated and MacGyver had no idea why.

Mac grabbed the TV remote and punched in the number for a network station. The camera was trained on a skyscraper with thick black smoke billowing from its windows.

"Isn't that one of the towers of the World Trade Center in New York? Is it on fire or something?" he asked.

"That's the North Tower," Pete confirmed. "But you're not gonna believe this-"

"Oh my God!" Mac exclaimed in horror, cutting off Pete's reply. He stared at the television screen in utter disbelief as he watched a jumbo jet fly directly into the South Tower.

"Pete, what's goin' on here?!" MacGyver asked anxiously.

"No one really knows," his friend replied. "A plane hit the North Tower about fifteen minutes ago and everyone assumed it was just a terrible accident due to some sort of miscalculation or malfunction. Now the announcer is saying it looks like this could be a coordinated attack using commercial airliners as weapons."

"You mean a _terrorist_ attack?"

"Yeah."

"But _how_?"

"I don't know," Pete sighed heavily. "But I suggest you head on over to Phoenix Laboratories. We don't know what's going on and you need to make sure the place is secure."

"You mean more than usual?" Mac asked incredulously. The site was known for its state-of-the-art security and underground labs.

"That's exactly what I mean."

Slowly coming to understand the gravity of the situation, MacGyver disconnected the call and headed to the bathroom, leaving the TV on. He quickly showered and dressed and was preparing to leave for the Foundation labs when he glanced at the television. The scene that played out before him was very different than the one before. He moved closer to make sure he understood what he was seeing.

"They hit the Pentagon," he whispered to himself, barely able to process this new information.

With news reporters still not clear on the type or extent of the seemingly connected attacks, Mac headed to the laboratory. Upon arriving, he took the elevator down to the lowest level where he found the majority of scientists and civilian employees huddled around radios and television sets. He elbowed his way through one group to get a better view. His jaw fell as the one-hundred-ten story South Tower collapsed, crumpling to the ground spewing fire and ash. Before he could grasp the scope of what he'd just scene, an announcer broke into the video feed to report that yet another plane had just crashed in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. A plane that should not even have been in the air considering the government had grounded all flights and ordered emergency landings twenty minutes earlier.

All around him people reacted to the tragedies unfolding before their very eyes. Most were silent, in shock, watching the television screens with wide eyes. Some cried. Some prayed. But no one dared speak. There were literally no words to describe what was happening.

MacGyver gathered his wits and began a slow and deliberate assessment of each of the labs and their occupants. Thankfully, due to the early hour, many employees had not yet reported to work so it would be fairly easy to detect any intruders, but he found none. Everyone was where they belonged and all contents remained secured. He had just walked into the hydroponics lab when a collective gasp sounded from the scientists huddled around yet another portable television. Mac peeked over someone's shoulder to witness the collapse of the North Tower. He glanced at his watch. How could it only have been an hour and a half since Pete's call? It seemed like a lifetime ago. MacGyver squeezed his eyes shut tight, ignoring the moisture collecting behind the lids. He had a job to do. People were counting on him. In a daze, he quietly left the lab and proceeded to the next floor.

As Mac and others continued the intense security sweep, he kept an ear open for reports of any further attacks. There were none, thankfully. But hadn't there already been too many? Satisfied that the Phoenix labs were as impenetrable as ever, MacGyver got back in his Jeep, nodded solemnly to the guard at the exit gate, and headed to Pete's apartment, the streets of Los Angeles eerily empty for what was far from a typical morning commute.

"Hi Pete, it's me," Mac said as his friend opened the front door.

"MacGyver! What are you doing here?" The older man moved aside, allowing Mac to enter.

"I just finished my assessment of the labs and...well...I just didn't want to go home."

Mac walked into the living and took a seat on the couch facing the television. Pete settled next to him.

"From what the reporters are describing, I think this is one time I'm actually glad I can't see," Pete commented, though not in jest.

"It's horrible Pete. Just horrible," MacGyver confirmed. "It's like a war zone, only worse. The victims here are civilians who didn't do anything to deserve any of this!"

"I just can't believe this actually happened _here_! In the United States!" Pete exclaimed, the emotions of the morning getting the better of him. "This is stuff you see on the evening news from halfway around the world! Not _here_!"

"I know, Pete," Mac replied flatly. "I know."

The two men spent the rest of the day gleaning as much information as they could from various news outlets. At first, MacGyver couldn't get enough. He watched the television coverage for hours as smoke and soot covered one of the largest and most famous cities in the world. He watched as fire and police personnel ran toward the chaos as hundreds of civilians ran away from it. He listened as, over time, new light was shed on the unthinkable attacks. He listened to reporters repeat stories of people who had received cell phone calls from loved ones trapped in the towers, knowing they were going to die with no chance of rescue. Others received calls from airline passengers who had decided to take matters into their own hands and plot against hijackers to bring down a plane in the Pennsylvania countryside in order to prevent a larger disaster. Perhaps most heartbreaking of all were the pictures of individuals searching for friends and family members who were unaccounted for. The depth of both hope and despair was palpable. MacGyver's mind drank in all the media had to offer, turning it over and over, trying to make it make sense. But it was a fruitless task. Mac knew that as long as he lived this day would _never_ make sense. The images on the television suddenly became repulsive. The announcers' voices grating. The speculation and explanations nauseating.

Finally, he had had enough. After listening to the President address and assure the nation, he headed back to his beach house. He walked the same pathway he had walked less than twenty-four hours earlier. He entered the same room, sat on the same couch, but nothing was the same anymore. Everything was different. MacGyver neither turned on a light nor the television. He stretched out on his couch and closed his eyes as images from the day too horrific for the human mind to comprehend assaulted him. He rolled over onto his side and allowed a stray tear to slide down his cheek. Tomorrow he would wake up and life would go on. But it would never be the same.


End file.
